


SuperStar-natural

by Poecilotheria



Category: Hoshi no Kaabii | Kirby: Right Back at Ya!, Kirby (Video Games), Kirby - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Gijinka, passing mention of the winchesters, the crossover no one asked for, violence is supernatural canon typical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-23 17:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15611202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poecilotheria/pseuds/Poecilotheria
Summary: Brothers Kirby and Meta are thrust into the heart of a brewing mystery when demons begin to specifically target them.  They enter a race against time to stop both their plan, and the plans of a sinister rogue hunter bent on acquiring an ancient artifact.  Along the way they save people, create allies, and battle the things that go bump in the night.  The family business.





	1. Wayward Sons

                A great spire of flames pierced the night sky as a flurry of glowing embers rained out like burning snow.  The house was fully engulfed, and numerous firefighters flanked it on all sides as they desperately fought back against the blaze.  The structure was slowly crumbling, sending up more flurries of embers with each collapse.  A sleek black car skidded to a halt before the scene; its dark paint reflected the myriad of flashing lights.  The man inside had the sort of worn face only a life of hardship produced, accentuated by a scar running over the corner of his mouth.  He turned off the car and pocketed the keys before turning to the back seat.  A child no more than 7 years old sat there, face pressed against the window to watch the scene.  The man tapped his shoulder.

                “Stay here, OK?  I’ll be back soon,” he said, his tone stern but soothing.  The child nodded, before returning to his silent gawking.  The man flung the door open and jogged towards the home.  Several police officers intercepted him.

                “Sir, you have to stay back,” an officer said, blocking his way. 

                “This is my brother’s house.  Where is he?” the man demanded.  The two officers looked at one another, then back to the man.

                “Sir, come this way.”  Their grave tone sent an icy chill down the man’s spine.

                “Tell me where he is!  Now!” he snarled.  He was suddenly distracted from his interrogation as he spotted a figure being wheeled along in a stretcher.  He easily slipped past the cops, ignoring their cries of protest.  The child lying on the stretcher was 3 at most, and his wide eyes were darting around frantically.  The man ran to his side.

                “Kirby!  Kirby, it’s me, Uncle Gabriel.  Do you remember me?” he said, trotting alongside as the stretcher continued its journey to the ambulance.  The kid nodded, seeming to brighten up slightly.  Gabriel turned to one of the medics.

                “How is he?”

                “He seems to only have some smoke inhalation.  We’re taking him to the hospital to be observed for anything we might’ve missed,” an EMT supplied. 

                “How about the others?”  There was a heavy silence. 

                “There were no other victims recovered,” the other medic admitted, focusing his gaze on his patient.  Gabriel was silent for a moment.

                “What hospital are you taking him to?”

                The sound of the car door opening startled the child out of his intent observation of the fire.  He looked to the front of the car.

                “Dad…?” he asked.

                “C’mon Miguel.  We’re going to go meet your new brother,” Gabriel said, putting the car into drive.

                _20 years later…_

Kirby glanced at his watch, before he returned to nervously munching on his basket of fries.  It was 20 minutes past the meeting time, and he was waiting for a text to come through any second telling him that the other had to cancel.  A tinkling bell announced a new person entering the diner, and Kirby lit up as he set eyes on who it was.

                “Miguel!” he chirped, rushing over to envelope the smaller man in a crushing hug.

                “You are well aware that I prefer being called Meta,” the man groused, though he returned the embrace.  The two walked back to the booth, taking seats opposite one another.  The two men seemed almost like opposites.  Kirby was a stocky, pudgy man, with rosy cheeks, pale skin, and a mop of blond hair on his head.  Meta was a lithe and slender man, with defined features and deep brown skin.  The dark sunglasses he always wore blocked any view of his eyes.

                “How’ve you been?” Kirby chirped. 

                “I have been well enough.  My work has certainly kept me busy.  And you?”  Meta paused to thank the waitress as a cup of hot cocoa was set in front of him.  The two were frequent enough visitors for the staff to memorize their orders.

                “I’ve been alright.  Still a bartender at the Crystal”

                “Wait, you mean dad’s bar?  He ought to have that dumpster fire demolished.  I am honestly surprised it hasn’t been condemned.  The patrons are about as worn out as the floor,” Meta drawled.

                “Hey, they’re a little rough around the edges but they’re good people.  And it just needs renovation.  Maybe you’re a little too used to the fancy places you work at?” Kirby responded.

                “There is nothing fancy about being a security guard.  It is primarily tolerating malcontented suburbanites who cannot grasp the concept of “no”.”

                “What do all those injuries come from, then?” Kirby asked.

                “I haven’t suffered very many injuries at all.  Only a few cuts and scrapes,” Meta said, waving off his brother’s concerns.  Kirby crossed his arms and attempted a scowl, though it looked more like a pout.

                “You had three broken ribs last year and the only reason I even found out was because the nurses found my contact in your phone.  What happened?”  Meta seemed to almost flinch slightly, looking away.

                “I crashed my car,” he lied.  Kirby sighed and rubbed at his head.

                “You would’ve called me or dad the second your precious car was even dinged.  What are you up to?  Underground fighting?”

                “Of course not!” Meta snapped, drawing the attention of several patrons.  He offered them a wan smile and lowered his voice.  “I am no criminal.”  Kirby’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward.

                “You aren’t hunting again, are you?” he whispered urgently. 

                “…No,” Meta whispered back, averting his eyes.  Kirby gasped loudly, then clapped his hands over his mouth as several fellow patrons glanced at him in curiosity.

                “You are going to give dad a heart attack!” he hissed, voice muffled by his hands. 

                “Not if you don’t _tell_ him!” Meta responded.  He then looked around suspiciously and leaned even closer to his brother.  “Look, there’s been an up-tick in paranormal happenings as of late.  I cannot just sit idly by and watch the bodies pile up!”

                “Any info from DDD?” Kirby asked.  Meta shook his head.

                “Him and Escargon have been chasing a million leads but all they can tell me is that the demons are planning something,” he said, frustration evident in his features.  His phone buzzed, and he snatched it, reading the text and rapidly typing out a response.  Kirby craned his head over the phone and Meta indignantly slid it closer to himself.

                “Who’s that?”

                “A contact.  I have to get going,” Meta muttered, beginning to stand.

                “A hunt?” Kirby murmured.  Meta sighed and deflated slightly.

                “A ghost down in southern Illinois,” he admitted.  Kirby slapped his hands on the table and stood suddenly, fire in his eyes.

                “I’m coming with you,” he said firmly.  Meta rolled his eyes.

                “Absolutely not.”

                “Why?”

                “You cannot just leave your vehicle here.  And you are inexperienced.”

                “I took the bus!  And dad taught me just as much as he taught you!”

                “And have you ever actually faced a true monster?” Meta asked smugly, leaning back in his seat. 

                “That’s how I got kicked out of college!” Kirby snapped, before covering his mouth with his hands as fury burned in Meta’s eyes.

                “You got kicked out?” he snarled.  Kirby put his hands up in a pacifying manner, smiling nervously. 

                “I-I had to do it!” he sputtered, before lowering his voice.  “There was a spirit killing people.  I had to burn the body and, well… I got caught.  They let me off with probation, but grave-robbing isn’t really popular with colleges,” Kirby explained, reddening from the shame of retelling the story.  Meta put his head in his hands, sighing heavily.  It was just like Kirby to throw everything he had away for others. 

                “Alright.  Fine.  You can come,” Meta huffed, lifting his head.  Kirby pumped his fist into the air, grinning widely.

                “Thank you!” he sang.  Meta just gave him a flat look and slid out of the booth.

                “Finish paying and meet me at the Halberd,” he said curtly, walking towards the door.  Kirby failed to stifle a snort.

                “You _named_ your car?” he called after him.  Meta only flipped him the bird without even turning around, which did nothing to deter Kirby’s mirth at his brother’s expense.

                The wind was crisp and cool, a sign of the coming winter.  Meta’s car was obvious from the moment Kirby surveyed the parking lot.  It was the only sports car amongst a herd of pickups and minivans.  The Halberd was sleek and black, obviously designed for speed and power over utility.  Its body shone flawlessly under the dimming evening sun, a testament to Meta’s dedication.  The man himself was rummaging around in the trunk and straightened just as Kirby approached.  Meta held out two objects, offering them to Kirby.

                “Can’t have you unarmed,” Meta deadpanned.  Kirby eyed the pistol and knife, only grabbing the latter.  Meta rolled his eyes.  “Look, I know you tend towards pacifism but- “He was quickly cut off as his brother lifted his shirt, revealing the gun and holster hidden beneath.

                “You know dad would never let either of us be weaponless,” Kirby laughed, making his way to the passenger side door.  Meta blinked and walked to the driver’s side, speaking to Kirby over the car.

                “But are you equipped to use it?” he asked.  Kirby leaned on the Halberd’s roof, giving the closest thing his cute face could manage to a smug smirk.

                “I’m at the shooting range every weekend.  And if I remember right, I’m the better shot,” he quipped.  Meta narrowed his eyes into slits beneath his sunglasses.

                “I recall very clearly,” he hissed.  Every since they were old enough, their father had insisted on regularly training at the gun range.  Kirby always managed to hit exactly where he aimed, and while Meta could reliably hit center mass he was no marksman.  Even though Meta made up for his shortcomings with his incredible hand-to-hand combat skills, it was still a massive hit to his ego, though he was certainly proud of his brother.

                “Sorry.  That was uncalled for,” Kirby said.  Meta glared at him for a few more moments before shrugging.

                “It’s fine,” he said curtly, opening the door and slipping into his car.  Kirby sighed and hopped into the passenger seat, automatically clicking his seatbelt into place.

                “Then let’s go!” he chirped, smiling placidly at Meta.  Meta’s irritation melted away slightly at the sight as he turned his key in the ignition.  The vehicle rapidly roared to life.  Kirby then reached towards the auxiliary cord before being deftly blocked by Meta as he plugged his own phone in.

                “My car.  My music,” he said flatly, flipping through his music in search of the correct playlist.  He chose one and nestled his phone into the center console.  Kirby made a face as guitar riffs sounded throughout the interior.

                “Aw man, not your old guy music,” he whined.  His brother always was a classic rock kind of guy, taking after his father. 

                “At least it isn’t your overly-synthesized pop garbage,” Meta replied, turning to look over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking space.  They pulled out of the parking lot and started down the road, heading for the highway.  Kirby made a sheepish face as his stomach suddenly rumbled, and he turned to face Meta.

                “You know, I didn’t really get that much to eat.  Could we maybe swing by a drive-through?” he asked quietly.

                “You had like three empty plates!” Meta snapped back.  Kirby pouted and squished himself into the seat.

                “Still doesn’t mean I’m not hungry,” he grumbled. 

                “Dammit Kirby,” Meta sighed, pulling into the brightly lit lane of the closest fast-food joint.  


	2. It Isn't the Racist Truck I Swear

                Headlights illuminated the desolate two-lane highway as the Halberd barreled through the countryside.  Meta hummed absently along to the music, tapping at the steering wheel in time to the beat as he scanned ahead for any unwary deer.  The surrounding fields stretched beyond the horizon, lit dimly by the crescent moon.  A forest of windmills towered high above the flat surroundings, and their hazard lights blinked an eerie red in the night.  The man’s signature sunglasses rested on his head, his hazel eyes reflecting the faint glow of the dashboard instruments.

                A sudden whimper brought Meta’s attention to his sleeping brother in the seat beside him.  Kirby’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, and his mouth was set in a grimace of pain. 

                “I told you three hamburgers was too much…” Meta murmured, turning his attention back to the road.  The thought of all those greasy wrappers laying on the interior of his beloved car was aggravating, but the thought of his brother in pain was even more so.  He sighed and returned to watching the road, occasionally sipping his tea which had long went lukewarm.  Meta almost wished to have the reckless gluttony of his younger brother, but he dedication to his physique prevented such a calorie intake. 

                Another long while passed monotonously by, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy, hypnotized by the near featureless road.  He straightened himself and shuffled in his seat, chasing away the drowsiness.  When it stubbornly returned he took to occasionally glancing out at the tapestry of stars above.  When even this measure failed he resigned himself to searching for a place to pull off.  Suddenly, Kirby’s hand shot out and gripped the wheel as he snapped awake.

                “Meta, watch out!” he cried, yanking the wheel harshly to the left.  The car swerved sharply, nearly tipping over as it arced towards the ditch.  Meta frantically fought for control of the wheel.

“Kirby what the fuck-?!“A sudden cacophony of metal-on-metal drowned Meta out as a rusted semi-truck scraped along the side of the Halberd, sending it spinning wildly onto shoulder.  A dozen small loose objects flew about the interior as the brothers tried to brace themselves.  There was a sound of shattering glass and a final series of metallic crunches before a still silence fell.  Kirby groaned and lifted his head from the deflating airbag, gathering his senses.  He then looked to his side and to his horror found Meta hanging partially out of the shattered driver’s side window, completely still.

“Meta, Oh my god!  Are you OK?!” Kirby screamed, unbuckling himself and trying in vain to open the damaged door.  There was a brief stir and a low mumble from the seemingly unconscious man.  “Meta…?” Kirby asked slowly.  Meta then slowly drew himself upright before kicking open his door with incredible force.

“Goddamn son-of-a-bitch!  I’ll mutilate the fucker!” he roared, a considerable amount of blood dripping down his face from a gash on his forehead.  He then leaned over towards Kirby, frantic concern in his eyes as he gripped the man by the shoulders.  “Are you alright?!” he asked, practically shouting in Kirby’s face. 

“I-I’m fine,” he responded, resisting the urge to wipe the spittle from his face “You’re the one that’s bleeding!”  Meta touched a hand to his hairline before examining the blood left on his fingers with little interest.

“Head wounds bleed profusely regardless of severity,” he deadpanned, before nimbly slipping out of the car and charging in the direction of the other driver, drawing his pistol.  “Alright you crazy motherfucker!” he called out, sweeping his firearm over the desolate road.  “Come out and face me you fucking coward!” Meta added.  He performed a second sweep, before slowly lowering the weapon as he looked out over the empty, straight road and shallow drainage ditches.  A semi-truck would have nowhere to hide, and it was impossible for it to gain enough speed to disappear over the distant horizon.  Kirby jogged up behind him after clambering over to the driver’s side, his hand on his own pistol.

“Where is the jerk?” he asked, eyes darting over the area.  Meta holstered his pistol and crossed his arms, staring out over the plains.

“Gone,” he said simply.  Kirby frowned, then widened his eyes in dawning realization.

“Was that-?  I thought we were still five hours out!” he gasped.  Meta turned to face him, cloaked in an eerie shadow owing to the still shining headlights of the ruined Halberd.

“You were asleep for two.  But you are correct; we are still a fair ways out, and I’ve never known spirits to wander quite this far from whatever they’re haunting…” Meta said thoughtfully, wiping idly at his still-bleeding wound. 

“Wait, that means…” Kirby began.

“Yes.  We have found _a_ ghost, but not our target,” Meta finished.  Kirby crossed his arms as well, letting out a large exhale that quickly condensed to vapor in the cold night air.  The two stood there for a long moment, shivering slightly in the icy breeze and glancing around awkwardly.

“So…What now?” Kirby asked, rubbing his chilled arms. 

“Call the cops I suppose.  I may be able to wheedle some valuable information out of them if I play my victim card right,” Meta grumbled, slipping his hands into his pocket.  He then scowled suddenly and looked at Kirby.  “You wouldn’t happen to have your phone on you, would you?”

“Um, no, I left it in the…center…counsel…” Kirby trailed off as he turned to point in the Halberd’s direction, suddenly reminded of the shape the vehicle was now in.  Meta stalked over to the vehicle with a fair amount of resignation, the destruction of his beloved Halberd finally sinking in.  He hopped into the driver’s seat and surveyed the seemingly undamaged and unfortunately empty center counsel.

“Damn!” he hissed, slamming a fist into the back of the seat.  He then pulled himself up and partly over the roof, waving his brother over.  “Our phones must have been thrown in the crash.  Help me search!” he called out.  Kirby deflated slightly at the news, trudging over with very little of his usual enthusiasm. 

“Aw geez.  How the heck’ll we find them in the dark?” he groaned.  Meta wordlessly slipped out of his seat and rounded the car, prying open the trunk with some difficulty.  He then returned with two hefty silver flashlights, offering one to Kirby.

“You search the car,” he said, flicking on his flashlight, “And I will search the road.”  Kirby looked at all the dark crevices in the Halberd’s interior with trepidation but decided against arguing with Meta’s idea.  His brother was already frazzled enough as it was.

“Gotcha,” he sighed, turning his flashlight on and sweeping the beam through the interior.  A myriad of glass shards glittered in the light, and he sincerely hoped that none of them had come from the men’s phones.  With his visual survey fruitless, he resigned himself to clambering in through the driver’s side door and feeling for anything beneath the seats.  His efforts rewarded him with an wet teabag, a pocketknife with the initials MK engraved in the handle, a few crumbled fast food wrappers, and a handful of change.  He frowned at his discoveries, starting slightly as Meta called out to him.

“Found…Yours?  Wait, definitely yours,” Meta grumbled, turning his find over in his hands. 

“Awesome!” Kirby chirped, craning his head to look at his approaching brother from where he was wedged behind the seats.  He wiggled his way back onto the driver’s seat and reached his hand out for his phone.

“Not so awesome,” Meta drawled, dropping it in his hand.  Kirby’s excitement melted away as he looked at his obliterated phone.  The screen was white with spiderweb cracks and was missing several pieces altogether.  Even the cute pink case Kirby had outfitted it with was marred by a flurry of cracks and dings.  He feebly pressed the power button, recognizing the effort to be too futile to even be disappointed when it didn’t respond.  He sighed and slumped back into the chair, pouting intensely.

“Darn,” he said simply.

“Any luck on your end?” Meta asked, shooting his brother a mildly sympathetic look.

“Nope, nothing… Wait.”  Meta started slightly at Kirby’s sudden intense tone and watched as he slowly reached for one of the car’s visors.  It had been knocked askew in the crash and had a small dark object lodged in the far corner.  Kirby snatched the object and cheered internally when he saw the initials MK scrawled across the case in hideous cursive.  Meta eagerly held his hand out and grabbed his phone, surveying the damage.  He looked up and nodded, a rare faint grin on his face.

“A few cracks, but it’s still functional,” he quipped, beginning to dial.  He stopped short of the final number, looking up with a questioning gaze.  “I have been…pondering something.”

“Don’t hurt yourself!” Kirby laughed, quieting himself at Meta’s stern glare.

“Anyway, I was wondering…How did you know that truck was going to collide with us?” he asked, genuine confusion written across his face.  Kirby frowned and put a finger to his chin, trying to remember the last moments before impact.  He sighed and shook his head after a few moments.

“I dunno, I was asleep and I can’t remember any dream I was having.  Maybe I heard it?  Y’know, subconsciously?” Kirby offered, shrugging.  Meta gave him a long look before he finished dialing.

“I suppose,” he said in a tone that suggested he was only temporarily dropping the subject.  He then brought the phone to his ear and broke his intense stare, leaving Kirby to relax slightly.  Even knowing that he would never lay a hand on him didn’t stop Meta from still being rather intense at times.  “Yes, hello.  Police and medical.  My brother and I are out on Route 267 about… twenty minutes out from Greenfield?  Hm?  Uh, around mile marker sixty-three?  We were just involved in a hit and run… Yeah… No injuries, well, I have a…”

“Play it up,” Kirby offered begrudgingly.  Meta made a show of rolling his eyes.

“..pretty bad cut on my forehead but we seem otherwise unharmed.  Our car isn’t drivable though. Hm?  A description?” Meta glanced at Kirby, and he could tell from the spark of mischief in Meta’s eyes that his disturbingly convincing victim act was about to commence in earnest.  “Uh, I really couldn’t tell?  It was a big vehicle, a semi or something, don’t know what color… Look, I couldn’t see the driver alright?!  It was dark, and he just came out of nowhere…” Meta injected a bit more trembling into his voice, “And…And I just need you guys to come make sure we’re safe, OK?  Th-That maniac could just come back and run us over!  What?  Of course it was purposeful, he headed straight at us!  OK, sorry, sorry, I’ll calm down, I’m just kinda shaken right now…”

“You have way too much fun with this,” Kirby muttered, folding his arms.  Meta only held a finger to his lips in response.

“Huh?  Oh, that was my brother.  He’s just wondering when you guys will get here, he’s really shaken up about this… Less than thirty minutes?  Oh, thank god.  Hm?  Oh, _of course_ I can stay on the line until they arrive…”

Less than twenty-five minutes later the scene was awash in red and blue lights, and all the brother’s weapons had finally been cleared as legal after the police had recovered the men’s wallets and the permits within from the countryside, though they had disarmed themselves out of both courtesy and a desire not to be shot.  The weapons and Kirby sat in an idling tow truck while paramedics finished tending to Meta’s head wound.  The medics had found no signs of concussion, and the wound was mercifully shallow.  A young officer was dutifully interviewing Meta, and he seemed totally enthralled by Meta’s continuing victim act.  Kirby chuckled to himself as he imagined the cop seeing Meta’s _real_ reaction to the crash.

“I know it seems cliché, but it just happened so fast!  I didn’t catch even a glance of the guy!” he said, making sure to occasionally wince due to his head wound.  Such an injury was inconsequential to his level of pain tolerance, but they didn’t need to know that.

“You’re absolutely certain that you don’t remember any other details?  Don’t go worryin’ yourself if you can’t just yet, your brother couldn’t remember either” the officer asked, dutifully taking notes.  The man’s utterly earnest nature almost made Meta feel bad about being deceptive.  Almost.

“I really wanted to jot down the license plate but by the time I got my senses about me the guy was gone.  I can only really tell you that it was a dark-colored semi-truck.  Oh, but I do remember one thing,” Meta said, holding up his finger to build the tension.  “The truck was old and rusted.  Or, at least, the business end was… ugh,” he finished, faking a shiver.

“Thanks, any detail could help us catch the guy,” the cop said, skimming through his notes.  Meta saw his opportunity and took it.

“Well, actually, I’ve got a question…” he began.

“Well shoot,” the officer responded.  Meta took a moment to carefully formulate his words before speaking.

“Are there any other reports or this guy?  I mean, someone that crazy doesn’t just appear suddenly, right?” he asked, making sure to wring his hands in mock nervousness.  The officer suddenly appeared a fair bit more serious, tensing up slightly.

“Sorry to say but, sometimes maniacs do just come outta nowhere.  Ain’t common, but it happens.  Though, between you and me, I’d avoid this road from now on.  Some shifty business going on here,” he said, his tone somewhat hushed.

“Shifty business?” Meta pried, a small amount of genuine curiosity seeping into his voice.

“Lotta fatal hit and runs along this stretch lately.  We pull up and it’s always obvious a larger vehicle hit ‘em.  But get this- no debris from the other vehicle.  None.  We’ll sweep those scenes top to bottom and there ain’t nothin’, not even a paint chip!” the man said, a touch of fear hidden deep in his tone.  “Look, all I’m sayin’ is: Somethin’ ain’t right ‘round here.  And even us police officers try and avoid takin’ this road.”  Meta nodded thoughtfully and extended his hand.

“I will keep that in mind.  Thank you for letting me know, Officer… erm…” Meta trailed off, panicking internally.  He was so caught up in his act that he had missed the man’s name.

“Don’t worry yourself over forgettin’ a name after gettin’ a knock to the head.  I’m Officer Wester, pleased to be of service,” Wester responded warmly, firmly shaking the offered hand.

“Ah, well, thank you for your help Officer,” Meta said, sincerity creeping into his tone despite himself. 

“Shucks, well, I hafta thank you as well for helpin’ me get that off my chest.  This case has been a rough one on the whole department.  I’m sure a few survivors’ll perk ‘em up a bit,” Wester said, scratching his chin in mild embarrassment.

“I wish you luck in finding the culprit,” Meta said, before starting suddenly at a loud voice carrying across the scene.

“Wester!  Git movin’!” a gruff female voice said.  Wester immediately straightened up and called back.

“I’m comin’!”  He then turned back to Meta.  “That’s the sarge, looks like I’m already back on patrol.  Listen, ya’ll look after yourselves, OK?  If you need any other policin’ matters attended to, the fellas over rummagin’ in the ditch’ll be happy to assist you.”

“WESTER!”

“See ya’ll around!  Or not, unless ya’ll wanna stop by the station in Greenfield!” Wester finished hurriedly and set off jogging towards his vehicle.  “And tell your brother that I hope he gets a new phone!” he added over his shoulder as he slid into his patrol car.  The man waved at him as he edged through the scene and drove off down the dark road.  Meta awkwardly returned the gesture and noted that Kirby was leaning out the window of the tow truck to wave back as well.  Presumably the officer had made a similarly friendly impression on his brother as well.  Usually the thought of a hunter befriending one of the very people that were often their obstacles would be laughable to Meta.  But if anyone could endear themselves he supposed it would be Wester.  He sighed and stood from his seat at the edge of the ambulance’s cabin. 

“Sir, you should really get your head checked out at the ER,” one of the medics urged.  Meta gave them a flat look, content with dropping his victim act out of sight of the officers.

“I know what a head injury feels like, I am fine.  Give me the AMA papers,” he said evenly. 

“Sir please.”

“I would like those papers so that I may deal with the mess that is my vehicle and find a place for my brother and I to rest,” Meta said, danger creeping into his tone.  A quick crash course on AMA papers and a signature later, Meta was clambering up into the tow truck and taking his seat beside Kirby.  The process was fast enough when you were familiar with it.

“Did Wester tell you about the other deaths?” Kirby asked as soon as he was seated.  Meta resisted the urge to smack his head against the dashboard.  It seemed that his careful act was completely unnecessary.

“Yes.  Rather eagerly,” he said lowly.  “All fatal until now…”

“You boys talkin’ ‘bout the hit and run deaths?”  The brothers turned their heads to the tow truck driver, who’s gaze remained fixed ahead as he navigated out of the scene.  They shared a wary glance before responding.

“Yeah, Officer Wester said it was probably the same guy who tried to off us,” Kirby replied.

“Driving a large, dark semi with rust on at least the front grill.  Are you familiar with the case?” Meta added.  The driver chuckled to himself.

“Familiar?  I moved two of the towable wrecks myself.  Gruesome job.”  A long moment passed with all three men gazing out over the road.

“How so?”  Meta pressed.  Kirby shot him a brief glare.

“If it’s not too nasty to remember,” he added. 

“Heh, it takes quite a bit to faze this old driver,” the man laughed, his voice powerful and hoarse in equal measure.

“Then at least take it easy on my stomach,” Kirby amended, drawing another laugh from the man. 

“Hey, don’t worry.  I’ll leave most of it up to your imaginations.  All I’m gonna say is that they probably needed a few body bags for each body.”

“Oh.  That’s not too bad,” Kirby quipped “I mean, for my stomach.  I feel bad for the dead people.”

“Was there any pattern to the wreckage?” Meta asked, taking out his phone and beginning to jot down the information they had gathered so far.  The driver gave the glowing screen a brief glance.

“The other wrecks only had one person in the car, and I’ll tell you, I could swear it looked like these people had truck magnets in their heads or somethin’.  Damn near perfect shots, each one.  You boys are lucky,” he said.

“I yanked the wheel at the last second,” Kirby said, allowing himself just a bit of pride.  Meta nodded.

“Indeed.  He saved us both,” he added.  The driver nodded, a wry grin on his face.

“Makes me miss my own brother.  He’ll be gone five years in a month.  He was a crazy sumbitch, but by god he had a heart of gold sloshin’ about in all that liquor.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kirby said sadly.

“Condolences,” Meta murmured, an intense gravity to his voice. 

“Nah, don’t be.  Bastard died as he lived and loved every second of it.  Died using the last of his paycheck to hire five strippers to feed him whiskey till he passed out.  Never woke up and became a legend.  Now how can I beat that?  I’ll tell ya:  I’ll hire six!” the man broke out into a belly laugh and Kirby gave Meta a delighted look as he snorted loudly and tried to stifle his giggles. 

“Truly a legendary man,” Meta said, wheezing slightly.  The laughter died down after a minute, and silence fell once again.

“By the way, I’ve been wonderin’.  Why’re ya writin’ this stuff down?” the driver asked, breaking the brief silence.  Meta shrugged, giving himself a few extra seconds for a cover story.

“It is rather fascinating to me,” Meta said, pausing briefly before he continued, “Additionally, perhaps I could sell my story to cover the costs of repairing my car.” 

“Sorry to say but, I’m gonna reckon that your car is totaled.”

“No it’s not.  He’ll pay anything to fix it,” Kirby groused, recalling a time when Meta admitted to skipping meals just to repair the fender.

“It is a custom gift.  Even so, I have contacts who will do the work as repayment for favors they owe me,” Meta huffed. 

“Well boys, here we are.  The Casino Motel,” the driver announced. 

“Casino?” Meta said, squinting his eyes at the garish red-and-gold sign.

“They’ve gotta few slot machines.  Guess it went to their heads,” the man shrugged.  The two brothers hopped down from the cab, with Kirby carrying the large case of weapons and with Meta dragging his small black suitcase. 

“Thank you for your assistance,” Meta said, taking the offered slip of paper with the address of the garage his car would be stored at. 

“Heh, it’s just my job.  Y’all have a good night!” the driver said, raising his hand from the steering wheel in a slight wave. 

“Goodbye!” Kirby called after him, before turning to catch up with Meta, who was already making a beeline for the check-in desk.  He leaned forward to catch Meta’s eye, smiling brightly.  “This town is pretty friendly, huh?” he chirped. 

“Hm.  And I have yet to decide if I like it,” Meta deadpanned.

“…”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I spend so much time on the throwaway tow truck driver character?  
> Though tow truck drivers are actually really cool dudes/dudettes. At least, the guy who towed my car after a deer committed suicide using my car on the interstate was pretty cool. His truck actually had a special shield on the front to deflect deer! How cool is that? He also talked about actually taking the deer he would hit back with him so the meat wouldn't go to waste, and donating the excess. They also often see the gruesome aftermaths of accidents since someone's gotta tow the wreckage.  
> I used to go on frequent roadtrips through both the midwest and the south so writing this is bringing back memories! My memory can work in snapshots so the description in this chapter is sort of an amalgamation of the five hours or so it takes to drive through illinois from top to bottom.  
> And yes Wester is the whip ability ally from star allies! He's doing his best.


	3. Bait and Switch

                Meta reentered the hotel room after his trip to the garage, bitterly clutching the cost assessment to make the Halberd drivable.  He slapped it on the nightstand between the room’s two beds and stormed over to hover behind Kirby as the man typed away on Meta’s laptop.  Kirby scrunched his shoulders as he felt breath on his neck.

                “A little space please?” he squeaked, leaning forward and away from Meta.  Meta acquiesced and sat on the edge of the nearest bed.

                “What did you find?” he asked, leaning forward to rest his arms on his legs.  Kirby attempted to dramatically spin around to present his results, but he was forced to just awkwardly hand the computer to Meta when he remembered that the rickety wooden chair had no such capabilities.

                “Multiple news articles on each incident and details on the victims.  Bad news, though: they have almost nothing in common.  Literally nothing aside from driving southbound along Route 267 between the hours of twelve and two AM,”

                “We fit the pattern: Southbound on 267, hit at around one-thirty,” Meta observed. 

                “We are unique in that there were two of us but considering how randomly this thing chooses its victims it could just be chance,” Kirby proposed.  Meta rapidly tapped at his laptop for several minutes before he suddenly perked up and dug in his pocket.  He presented the small plastic object to Kirby, dropping it in his palm.

                “Here, I got you a replacement.  You can give me my phone back now.”  Kirby took a careful look at the seemingly archaic flip-phone, trying his best to force excitement. 

                “Thanks for the uh…new phone!” he chirped, false enthusiasm clear.  Meta scowled at him over his laptop.

                “Sorry that there are no apple stores in Bumfuck Nowhere, USA.”

                “No, I mean, I can’t really text well on this and I’ve been messaging Wester…”

                “We are _hunters_.  You cannot date a _cop_!” Meta shrieked, interrupting Kirby. 

                “…since he wanted to know how your injury was.  He gave me his number to call if we got in trouble again, like if the truck came back,” Kirby deadpanned, glaring daggers at Meta. 

                “Ah,” Meta said, lowering his head until it was hidden from Kirby’s view behind his laptop.  “Tell him that I am well,” he murmured. 

                “Anyway,” Kirby began, loudly clearing his throat, “I did find something extremely interesting.  In 1952 a man named Eduard Azi killed his mistress.”

                “OK?” Meta said slowly.

                “By ramming her car with his semi-truck on Route 267.  His wife was with him and almost died in the crash but survived.  He eventually fried in the electric chair.  Pretty twisted,” Kirby finished. 

                “That has to be our culprit.  Where is he buried?” Meta asked.

                “Local cemetery.  I’ve got the address on one of the tabs, but it looks like that’s as specific as it gets.  Luckily it seems pretty small, so we shouldn’t have to look too hard.”

                “ _I’ll_ be taking care of the salt and burn,” Meta said evenly, gaze intent on his screen.  Kirby’s mouth fell open for a moment before he grit his teeth in outrage. 

                “I’m not a kid just tagging along here.  I’m just as much of a hunter as you are!” he hissed.  Meta didn’t even look up from his research. 

                “You do not want to follow me down this particular path.  I’ll humor you for a while, but this isn’t the life for you,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

                “Isn’t the-?!  I don’t need your protection!” Kirby stood suddenly, towering over his seated brother.  “What do you want me to do?  Bartend at the Crystal for the rest of my life?!”

                “That would be preferable, yes,” Meta responded.  Kirby slammed the laptop shut and glared at his brother, who met his gaze with indifference.

                “You always did act like a damn martyr, you know that?  You aren’t the only one who can’t stand by while knowing about all these things out here killing people!”

                “And what about the people we cannot save?  I know you, and every single one of them would eat at your soul until you turned into something you aren’t,” Meta said, holding eye contact. 

                “And so would just sitting by!  I’m not as delicate as you think I am!”

                “I never said that, Kirby.  But you do care too much.”

                “Somebody here has to!” Kirby shot back.  A flash of irritation crossed Meta’s eyes.

                “This discussion is going nowhere.  Take my phone and go to that café down the street to cool off,” he muttered.  Kirby marched to the center of the room, snatching his jacket.

                “Maybe I will!  And maybe I’ll call some of dad’s contacts and find someone who actually thinks I have half a brain!”

                “You cannot run off with my phone,” Meta deadpanned.  Kirby gave him a look halfway between shock and rage.

                “That’s all you care about?  Maybe _you’re_ the one who needs to take a break!” he snarled, jabbing a finger in Meta’s direction. 

                “There are no breaks when you are in as deep as I am.  That is my point!” Meta growled, clenching his fists.

                “Here you are again with the tortured soul act!  You don’t want help because it interrupts your little pity party!” Kirby said, though he immediately regretted his words.  Meta snapped his head to face him, fury burning bright in his eyes.

                “Act?  Act?!,” he hissed, striding over to stand toe-to-toe with his brother.  “You cannot comprehend the misery I’ve been through!  I’m trying to save you from this fucking mess!  I don’t want you to lose the people you care for the most!”

                “Meta, I’m sorry…” Kirby stuttered. 

                “If you really want to destroy yourself, go ahead!  But I don’t want to watch!” Meta roared, shoving Kirby towards the door.

                “Meta, c’mon, you know I didn’t mean that…” Kirby pleaded, reaching a hand out towards Meta’s shoulder.  It was harshly slapped away.

                “Leave,” Meta snarled, pointing towards the door.  Kirby gave him a heartbreaking look before grabbing Meta’s cellphone and leaving, shutting the door gently behind him.  Meta grabbed the laptop and set it back on the desk, studying the map on the screen.  “I should have never taken him along…” he murmured, Kirby’s words still lingering in his head.

                The afternoon headlong passed by now, the large picture windows of the café projecting a warm glow into the growing gloom of the parking lot.  Kirby sat slumped over the table, hidden away in a corner booth.  The sandwich he had ordered sat half eaten in front of him, and his coffee had long gone ice cold.  He stared at the laminated wood surface of the table, his words playing over and over in his mind.  How on earth could he have ever said that to his brother?  He was perfectly aware that Meta lost his closest friend and his fiancé to murder just four years ago, and here he was accusing him of throwing a pity party.

                Meta’s phone buzzed loudly next to him, startling him out of his thoughts.  He slowly grabbed it and read the message on the screen.

                “How r u doing?” the message from Wester read.  Kirby began typing out the truth before erasing it and beginning again.

                “Good, you?,” he typed back.  A few moments passed before the phone buzzed again.

                “Doing good.  Relaxing before work,” it read.

                “We’re just waiting on the car, should be done tomorrow,” Kirby texted back.

                “Oh yeah, how’s ur brother?”  Kirby flinched slightly at the question and hesitated before typing back. 

                “He’s fine.  Already healing!” he responded. 

                “That’s good 2 hear.  That crash is gonna be on my mind 2nite.”

                “Why’s that?” Kirby questioned.  A few seconds passed before the response came.

                “I’m on the 12-9 shift 2nite.  Hoping I don’t find any new wrecks.”  Kirby frowned, and typed back.

                “You aren’t going on 267, are you?”

                “Unfortunately I have to.  We’re trying some heavier patrols there starting today.  Just my luck,” Wester responded.  Kirby’s blood suddenly ran ice cold.

                “Wester, you can’t!  That guy could get you!”

                “I have to.  Besides, I got a better chance than a civilian of coming out alive from it,” came the next text.

                “Please, Wester.  Call off or something, I’m worried,” Kirby typed frantically. 

                “I can’t do that, gotta protect people.  I’ll be fine.”  Kirby set the phone down, and frantically reviewed his options.  The Halberd was still out of commission, but he could make it if he started now…  He flipped through the contacts and hovered over the one labeled ‘Temp Phone’, before slipping it into his pocket rather than dialing.  Meta would only be furious at his plan. He pulled a fifty from his wallet and slapped it down on the table. 

                “Keep all the change!” he called out as he darted out of the café, starting down the darkening road.

                Hours later, he sat in the gravel at the side of the highway, watching anxiously for headlights to shine over the pavement.  He slipped his phone from his pocket, and dialed Wester.  It only rung twice before he picked up.

                “Hey Kirby!  I was mighty worried when you just suddenly stopped messaging!” Wester said, his voice echoing around the empty road. 

                “Sorry, I, um, fell asleep,” Kirby responded lamely.  He was then silent for a few moments before continuing.  “Hey, you ever heard of the Azi case?  It popped up when I searched hit and runs on 267,” he lied.

                “Oh yeah.  Real locally infamous.  It was such a shoddy job by the investigators, too.”

                “Wait, really?  It seemed open-and-shut!” Kirby exclaimed. 

                “They really railroaded that poor man.  Ignored all sorts of evidence too,” Wester responded.  Kirby frowned.

                “Wait, but he murdered her,” he said, confused.

                “Not if you read the evidence files.  His wife had her fingerprints all over the steering wheel.  Her hands were also broken in a way that hands often break when they’re on the wheel,”

                “His wife was the murderer…” Kirby muttered, eyes wide. 

                “I reckon he took the fall outta guilt.  Hey, you OK?  You sound funny,” Wester asked.  Kirby gulped.

                “Hey Wester, I’ll call you back later, OK?  I’ve gotta go,” he stammered.

                “Oh, alrighty then.  Take care-“Kirby hung up and dialed Meta, panic in his eyes.

                The only sounds evident in the old cemetery were the cacophony of crickets and the sound of a shovel striking soil.  Meta heaved out shovelful after shovelful of the heavy clay soil, sweating dripping from his brow as he cleared the final mound of dirt covering the skeleton.  It was surrounded by the rotten remnants of its wooden coffin.  Meta clambered out of the pit and stuck the shovel in the ground beside him, sprinkling salt and lighter fluid over the corpse.

                “This is for my car,” he muttered, striking a match and dropping it into the pit.  Flames erupted out of the grave, and Meta watched as it consumed the bones.  Suddenly the phone in his pocket rang, and he grabbed it, flipping it open.

                “Hello?” he said.

                “Meta?  Meta, we have a huge problem!” Kirby’s voice crackled through the phone.  Meta frowned and leaned on his shovel, illuminated from below by the fire.

                “I already burned him,” he responded.

                “We had the wrong guy!  He took the fall for his wife!” Kirby squawked.  Meta’s eyes widened and he straightened up.

                “What?!”

                “The evidence showed that she was the driver, but the investigators just took the guy’s confession.  The wife was the driver!” Kirby explained.  Meta sighed heavily and picked up his shovel.

                “Well, she’s right next to him.  Another two goddamn hours of digging,” he hissed, moving in front of the adjacent grave.

                “Two hours?!  Can you do it in one?” Kirby pleaded.  Meta scoffed.

                “What, in a hurry?” he snapped.

                “Wester is going to be patrolling the road tonight!  He could get killed!” Kirby explained.  Meta glared at the phone and sighed again, louder this time.

                “I’ll do my best.  Though it isn’t guaranteed that the ghost will strike,” Meta grumbled. 

                “I just have a feeling, alright?  Call me when you’re done, please,” Kirby said.  Meta rolled his eyes and stabbed his shovel into the new grave.

                “Alright.  I’ll see you back at the motel,” Meta responded, ending the call.  He then stretched his arms and began his second excavation of the night.

                An hour or so passed with no call, and Kirby was becoming more and more jittery with each passing second.  He really didn’t want to have to enact his plan.  He stared intently at the screen, which read a quarter past twelve.  Suddenly a pair of headlights blinked into view over the horizon, and Kirby’s stomach dropped as he recognized the patrol car.  He steeled himself and walked into the center of the road, squinting his eyes against the powerful beams of light.  The car stopped a few yards in front of him.

                “Kirby?” Wester asked, shocked.  Kirby then slowly approached, relieved when Wester raised no alarm at his movement.  Wester rolled his window down as the man approached.

                “Could I have a ride?” he asked, making himself look as pathetic as possible.  Wester gave him a concerned look.

                “Sure thing.  What happened?” he asked.  Kirby slid into the back of the car. 

                “My brother and I had a fight and he dumped me out here,” he lied.  Wester turned to look at him, a strange look on his face.

                “I thought you said the car ain’t gonna be finished until tomorrow?” he questioned.  Kirby mentally cursed himself for telling the man that.

                “It was finished early.  Meta should be up in the next town waiting, he cools down pretty fast,” he said quickly. 

                “Here, tell you what:  I’ll take you back to the station and you can call him.  I can’t really take the time outta my patrol that it would take to get to the next town, but I reckon we’re only ten minutes from Greenfield,” Wester offered.

                “If you could, I’d really like to get to Meta…” Kirby pleaded.

                “You could call him on the way, if you like,” Wester added, performing a three point turn and heading back towards the town.  Kirby grit his teeth and lightly tapped the handle of his pistol.  He’d turn the car around by force if he had to…

                “Wester, I’m really sorry about this, but- “the car was suddenly illuminated by oncoming headlights.

                “Watch out!” the officer shouted, expertly dodging the truck and sliding across the highway in a graceful drifting turn.  He then gunned it, fleeing as the truck pursued them.  “How’d it turn around so fast?!” 

                “Wester listen to me!  We have to get off the road!” Kirby shouted, braced against the window.  “That thing isn’t-“

                “Good idea!” Wester responded, cutting him off.  The truck tapped the rear of the car and Wester spun the wheel as he spotted a turn off, tearing past the gravel and through the plains beyond.  His jaw then dropped as he spotted the same headlights in the rear-view mirror.  “How?!”

                “Wester, listen!  That thing’s a ghost!  Terrain won’t stop it!”

                “Hang on!” Wester shouted, performing another expert drift around the base of a windmill.  The car lurched to a halt behind it, and the two men hopped out.  The truck slammed into the enormous structure, though no debris flew from the impact site.  Wester drew his gun and trained it on the driver’s side.  “Get out of your vehicle!” he roared.

                “Wester, that won’t…” Kirby trailed off as the front of the truck appeared to burst into flame.  The fire moved unnaturally fast, consuming the structure like paper rather that smoldering metal.  Kirby slumped in relief as Wester watched, transfixed as the fire threw off embers that simply disappeared.  They both got a glance of the figure in the cabin as the windows burned away, her face twisted in fury and agony as she too dissolved into embers.  Soon nothing remained aside from the slight dent to the windmill’s base.  The stunned officer then turned slowly to Kirby as the man’s phone rang.

                “You definitely fried her,” he said, picking up. 

                “Good, because I can’t feel my arms,” Meta’s voice responded.

                “So,” Wester began, trembling as he holstered his weapon, “You said that was a ghost?”

                Kirby loaded the last of their luggage into the freshly repaired Halberd as Meta explained the intricacies of defending against the paranormal to an enthralled Wester as the man jotted down notes.  He’d made a beeline to the motel just after his shift ended and caught the brothers just before they left.  He shut the trunk and walked over to the two men.

                “Well, I’ll make sure to call if I ever spot somethin’ fishy,” Wester said.  Meta nodded, and looked to Kirby as he approached.

                “Ready?” he asked.  Kirby nodded.

                “All set.  We’ll keep in touch, right Wester?”

                “Sure thing!  You two stay as safe as you can out there, OK?” Wester said, shaking Kirby’s hand and then Meta.  He waved at them briefly before hopping into his car and heading off to take a well-earned rest and buy a whole lot of salt.  Kirby slipped into the Halberd and turned to Meta as he got into the driver’s seat.

                “Sorry about what I said,” he murmured, shame evident in his face.  Meta gave him a sideways glance before starting the ignition.

                “It is fine.  I provoked you,” he responded curtly.  Kirby frowned.

                “That doesn’t make it right,” he said.  Meta gave a long sigh and turned to face him.

                “What I said was incorrect.  You are inexperienced but capable, and if you truly wish to be a hunter I’d rather you be by my side.  I only want you to think carefully on this,” he said.

                “And I didn’t mean what I said.  You can just be a little… difficult sometimes,” Kirby responded.

                “I am aware on both counts,” Meta deadpanned, pulling out of the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not supernatural until there's some sibling angst. Also I completely made up the murder case so don't think it's real.

**Author's Note:**

> No one asked for this but does that stop me?  
> No.  
> I already have 4+ unfinished fics but does that stop me?  
> NO.


End file.
